


What a Lie We're In

by LetItRaines



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: All of the Tropes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Christmas, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27842329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetItRaines/pseuds/LetItRaines
Summary: All Emma was doing was trying to be nice. Her roommate didn’t have anywhere to go, so she invited him home for the holidays. She thought it would be fine and Killian would be a good buffer for a week at home with her parents. That is until her ex-boyfriend showed up, and while she was freaking out, Killian told him they were dating.That would have been fine except her parents overheard it.(A Christmas Fake Dating AU)
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 160
Kudos: 288





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't let the holidays pass without coming in with a story that has all of the tropes...but maybe with some twists! I hope you all enjoy! ❤️❤️❤️

“Did you eat all of my candy?”

Emma opens another cabinet, looking inside to the wine glasses and tumblers, before closing it. She’s been keeping her bag of candy in the cabinet where they keep their plates and bowls, hidden at the very top behind some reusable water bottles. Killian is a healthy eater, always stocking the fridge with fruits and vegetables and food she doesn’t think is actually real food, so she didn’t think she had to hide her junk food that well.

Hide it, yes. Hide it well, no.

Until now.

“What was that, love?”

Emma slams another cabinet closed and turns to look at Killian. He’s walking out of the bathroom, chest still damp, and only has a white towel wrapped around his waist. When he first moved into the apartment six months ago after Ruby abandoned Emma to go live with Dorothy (live with, get married to, same thing), Emma was taken aback by the lack of clothes wearing Killian partakes in. He’s an attractive man. She’s not blind. He goes to the gym as often as she does, but mostly, he spends a lot of time doing heavy lifting at his job as a contractor since he apparently likes to be hands-on, literally. His body is toned, and the son of the bitch knows it. He also knows he’s got the face to be able to get away with a lot of…well, a lot.

At first, it was all disconcerting, but now, he could walk around with his dick out and Emma wouldn’t care.

What she cares about is where her candy is. That’s the real priority. But she knows Killian will try to use his lack of clothes to distract her. Never worked in the past, not gonna work now, bud. 

“My candy,” Emma repeats. “Where is it?”

He wipes behind his ear with the small towel in his hand. “I wouldn’t touch the stuff. You don’t like the good candy.”

“Well, my  _ good  _ candy has been moved, and we’re the only two people who live here.”

Emma places her hands on her hips, staring him down hoping he will somehow be intimidated by her stare and fess up to everything. He won’t be, but Emma can try. They both have their tactics. 

Killian clicks his tongue. “What about the fellow you brought home last week?”

“Do you mean the plumber?”

“Was that who he was?”

“You know I don’t bring guys back here.” Emma moves from the counter and opens the fridge, taking out a handful of grapes from the fridge. She probably needs to eat some of them and not candy anyway. As she pops one into her mouth, that’s when it clicks. “Your girlfriend ate my candy, didn’t she?”

He scoffs and keeps drying his hair, but she sees the way he scratches his ear. Gotcha, Jones. “I don’t believe I have a girlfriend.”

“What? Tink break up with you because you wouldn’t let her eat dessert on your dates? Wait, I heard it. Don’t make it dirty.” Killian walks toward her, getting in her space, and she knows him well enough to know he wants her to flinch, to move, to stop her line of questioning. That’s exactly why she doesn’t want to. Emma pops another grape in her mouth. “Did you eat my candy? Was it your way of wallowing? It’s okay if you did. I’ll take another bag for payment.”

“For your information, Swan,” he whispers as he places his hand on her hip, “we are no longer seeing each other, but it was mutual. She did, however, eat your candy when she was last here. If you really want to know, we used it to – ”

“Stop,” Emma groans, pushing him away and running to the other side of the kitchen. “Nope. Don’t take that any further. Some things should be left private.”

His head tilts back as he laughs, the underside of his jaw black with stubble, and then he’s reaching into the cabinet above the fridge and tossing her the bag of sweets.

Oh.

“I hid it after Will and Rob found it while we were playing cards last night. Will nearly went through all your milk duds before I realized what was happening.” He raises his brow. “You have something you want to say to me?”

Emma knows what he’s aiming for, and she isn’t going to give it to him.

“Yeah,” Emma says, “you need a thicker towel. I don’t think you want people seeing you when you look like…that.” She nods her head down and then picks up a handful of Kit Kats. “I gotta go to work.”

“Off to die inside at your cubicle, love?”

“Oh, you know it.”

Emma grabs her purse and unlocks the door only to hear Killian speak. “It’s December. How do you still have Halloween candy leftover?”

Emma shrugs. “I bought one bag to pass out to kids, two bags for me.”

“Bloody brilliant.”

“I do what I can. See you tonight. I’ll try not to wake you up from your nap when I come in.”

“That would be the least you could do.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but then she’s officially walking out the door of her apartment and down toward the elevator, a Kit Kat bar hanging out of the side of her mouth.

The thing about Killian Jones is that he’s simple to her.

He likes his friends, his job, his rum, and his women. There’s not much else to him, and Emma is okay with that. While her last roommate was her best friend, this one doesn’t have to be. He can just be a guy who pays the bills so she can keep living in a nice place and who, on occasion, talks shit about other people with her while they binge watch TV.

That’s all she needs.

And all and all, Killian Jones is a…fine roommate. Yeah, fine is an accurate way to describe him at least eighty percent of the time.

Even if she does get annoyed when he brings his dates home. But that’s only because it’s always on the nights she plans on going to bed early, and the noise of other people being around keeps her from catching up on sleep.

Emma is not one to mess around on sleep.

But yeah, he’s fine. Annoying as hell over half the time, but he’s fine in the small dosages she sees him in. He works odd hours, isn’t always on the job, and she is stuck with regular hours in her office. There’s not a lot of glory in working HR for a small engineering company, but that’s what happens when you make dumbass decisions like Emma did. She’s lucky she has a stable job. She’ll try not to complain too much about it.

That’s what she tells herself every morning when she sits in her car and stares at the drab brick building.

Money. She has to make money.

And hey, she gets almost an entire week off for Christmas next week, and that’s fucking incredible, even if she does have to spend it in her hometown with her parents and their Hallmark-like attitude toward the holiday and the events it puts on. Her mom is a teacher at the elementary school and produces the Christmas play every year while her dad is a vet and outfits all his patients in little holiday bandanas and bows. He even has a tree in his office decorated with bone ornaments.

It’s…a lot. But it’s family, and as Emma stares at this building that’s sucking the life out of her, she can’t wait to have a change of pace and some home-cooked meals, even if there are as many downsides as upsides to going home. Her kit kat bars aren’t giving her the nutrients she knows she needs.

Being an adult is not all it’s cracked up to be sometimes, especially when going home for the holidays is seen as more of a burden than a gift with a fancy bow on top. It’s more like that turkey that dries up and falls to pieces in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. 

Well, that and the squirrel crashing every decoration in the house. 

Happy holidays.

-/-

“Nah, mate, I don’t have any plans.”

Emma quietly puts her keys down on the table next to her front door, laying her purse down with it, and she kicks her boots off until they topple over each other and lay in the middle of the hallway. She can hear Killian talking, and it gets even louder when she walks into the kitchen and turns on the coffee maker.

“No, no, well, you know, I rarely do anything, not since Liam.” There’s a pause as the coffee begins to percolate and Emma grabs another Kit Kat from her bag. “I went home with Milah once, but that was years ago…no, mate, it’s alright. I don’t mind staying here by myself…yeah, I think Emma is going home to her parents.”

And that’s when she realizes what Killian is talking about.

Christmas plans.

He doesn’t have any. Emma didn’t know that. She didn’t really bother to ask. She doesn’t bother to ask much of Killian. She picks up pieces here and there, as she’s sure he does to her, but they mind their own business.

He doesn’t have a family to go home to? She knows he’s originally from England, but still. There must be someone.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Killian says. “I promise if I need anything, I’ll let you know. Alright, bye Scarlet.”

The coffee finishes, and Emma picks the pot up and starts pouring, filling her large mug halfway before getting hazelnut creamer out of the fridge and making the coffee drinkable. Killian joins her in the kitchen and perches himself on one of their stools.

“Good day at work?” he asks.

“Eh, it was a day. You?”

He shrugs. “The same. I’m finishing up on this house tomorrow, hopefully, so tomorrow will be a good day.”

Emma nods and sips on her coffee as Killian taps his fingers on the counter, the rhythm the same as the song he usually hums when cooking. “So, when are you heading for Storybrooke?” he asks.

“Monday after work.” Killian nods and keeps tapping his fingers, and Emma, stupidly opens her mouth because despite what her exes have told her, she does apparently have a heart. “If you don’t have any plans and have off work, you’re welcome to come with me. My parents are always thrilled to welcome more people. Just be prepared, it’s like a Hallmark movie up there.”

His eyes widen, the blue lighting up, and his upper lip starts to quiver, laughter very obviously waiting to break through. Dammit, why the hell did she decide to be nice? This is going to give him all of the wrong ideas. 

“Why, Swan,” he smirks, leaning forward and resting his chin in his propped-up hand, “are you inviting me home for the holidays with you? You’ve been harboring a crush this entire time, haven’t you? I can’t say I’m surprised. I see the way you look at me when I finish up in the bathroom. Don’t be ashamed of it. Most women find me attractive.”

Emma flicks Killian’s forehead, and really, he should be thrilled she didn’t dump her hot coffee on his lap like she wanted to.

“I was just trying to be nice. You didn’t have to be an asshole about it.” Emma rolls her eyes and turns on her heels to walk away. She is going to her room. She doesn’t have to put up with his shit. “Forget I even offered.”

“Wait, wait, Swan.” Emma’s shoulders tense, and she doesn’t turn around. “Are you serious about your offer?”

“I mean, it would have some conditions in that you are a slightly less obnoxious version of yourself, but yeah, if you don’t have anywhere else to go, you can come home with me.”

“I’d like that.” Emma twists around, trying to size him up, and for once, everything seems genuine. “I have a condition as well.”

Idiot. “What could your condition possibly be?”

He winks, and she already knows this is going to have her eyes rolling so far into the back of her head they get stuck there. “Don’t go falling in love with me.”

What a cheesy ass sarcastic line.

“In your dreams, Jones.”

What the hell has she gotten herself into? This is absolutely the last time she lets her conscience guilt her into doing something nice. Emma was already going to be miserable, but now she’s miserable with a buffer.

At least her mom will be happy getting to go into hostess mode.

-/-

In the days leading up to them leaving for Storybrooke, Emma convinces herself Killian is going to back out of the trip. He’ll realize this is awkward and not a good idea. They live together, sure, but they don’t actually know each other. They’re not close friends.

But Killian never backs out. Instead he asks her things like what the weather is like there, if her parents drink wine, if he needs to bring his own bedding. He asks a million questions a day, and they continue when they’re in her bug making the drive from Boston to Storybrooke. He wants to know what her parents do for a living, what their hobbies are, pretty much everything someone needs to know when they’re about to spend half a week in the house of strangers.

Strangers who don’t actually know they’re having someone stay at their house to awkwardly sit on the sidelines as Emma’s family celebrates the holidays and has their usual holiday arguments. 

Yeah, Emma didn’t ever tell her parents Killian was coming. She knows her mom well enough to know the moment Emma mentioned bringing someone home, her mom would have stopped listening before Emma could explain that it was just her roommate. It would have been this whole big thing, and Emma knows she can handle explaining it better in person when she can snap her mom out of getting excited about nothing.

Plus, who doesn’t want a Christmas surprise?

(Emma doesn’t.)

After Killian stops being one of those obnoxious kids who never stops asking questions, they sit in relative silence for the car ride, music entertaining them, and little by little, cities fade away and more trees pop up, evergreen forests surrounding them. It’s always the sign for Emma that she’s leaving her life and going back to her old one.

That and the “Welcome to Storybrooke” sign.

Everything about the town is the same. The buildings are small and kind of dingy downtown, and when she passes Granny’s, she bets those onion rings are the same too. God, she hopes they are. This is probably the only thing that can get her through this week. She should have texted Ruby and made sure her grandmother hadn’t changed any of the recipes. If she had, Emma definitely would have stayed home. 

People walk down the sidewalk all bundled up in their coats and scarves, saying hello and chatting with others they pass. It’s the opposite of Boston where Emma can go her entire day without having to say hello to someone, and a little shiver runs down her spine at the thought. She needs to get out of here as soon as possible and to the isolation of her parents’ farmhouse, even if that presents her a new set of problems.

Storybrooke, Maine is, decidedly, not Emma’s favorite place for a hell of a lot of different reasons.

Killian, though, seems to be taking it all in with the wonder and confusion of someone who has never lived in a small town like this and who is a bit shell-shocked.

Get used to it, buddy.

“Oh, hey, one more thing,” Emma sighs as she pulls up to her parents’ street a few minutes later. “My real last name is Nolan. I changed it after high school, so my parents’ names are Nolan. The whole ‘Swan’ thing is a sticky situation for them even though it’s my mom’s maiden name.”

Killian’s eyes narrow, and she has definitely shared too much about herself now. “Am I allowed to ask or…”

“No. just try not to call me ‘Swan’ around them.”

“Whatever your heart desires, love.”

Emma slows down as the road turns from paved to loose gravel leading up to their driveway. There are several cars parked alongside it, and either they now own extra cars or her parents have friends over. Great. Just what she needed. Other people around when she’s coming home and surprising her parents with a guest. At least Killian will likely be that buffer she keeps hoping he’ll be.

They get out of her car, and Emma pops the trunk for them to get their bags. Killian grabs the bigger ones despite her arguing with him about it, but she’s fine to just carry her purse and the bag with presents. Emma closes the trunk, slamming it shut, and squares her shoulders.

This is fine. This is all fine.

Until ten steps later, it’s not.

Her parents have this incredible wraparound porch with swings and rocking chairs, and sitting in one of them is Neal Cassidy.

What the hell?

She doesn’t…she can’t…why is he here? He has no right to be here, no business being here, and seeing his face makes her want to vomit.

It makes her want to cry, too, but Emma can’t give him the satisfaction.

Instead, she’d like to sink into the dirt and never emerge again.

“Shit,” Emma mumbles, stopping and turning toward Killian who is looking down at her with an arched brow. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“What is it?”

God, she can’t believe she has to tell this to him. It’s too many pieces of her past in too short a period of time. This isn’t something she ever wanted to talk about again and certainly not to Killian. She was really hoping she never had to see Neal’s face again. 

Honestly, she never considered it to be a possibility. 

If only.

“That guy sitting on my porch is an ex of mine. And I’m talking about a bad ex, not one of those who you can be friends with afterward.”

“What the bloody hell is he doing here then?” Killian looks over her head to look at Neal, but Emma grabs his hand and yanks on it until he looks at her. “What?”

“Don’t look at him,” she hisses. “I don’t know what he’s doing here, but I’m sure it has something to do with my parents. Just…I don’t know what to do.”

“Do we need to turn around?”

“No, no, that’s pathetic. Just…maybe he’s going to leave soon, and it’ll be a quick hello and then I never have to see his face again. Let’s get it over with.”

“If you’re sure, Sw – Emma.”

“I’m sure.”

She’s not sure at all. Mostly, she wants to take Killian’s suggestion and run far, far away. 

Once more, Emma braces her shoulders, and she moves forward. If she stops and thinks too much, she’ll chicken out. It’s how she is. If she thinks about something for too long, it ruins every bit of courage she has. Now isn’t the moment for that when this week is one that makes her need courage.

Maybe, Emma realizes, she didn’t invite Killian here just to be nice. Maybe she needed that buffer to keep her old demons at bay, even if just barely, and that was her motivation all along.

That really makes her asshole of the year. Well, after Neal. She hasn’t seen him in years, but he still gets the asshole of the year award. 

Neal sees her before she can get to the front steps. He rises from the rocking chair and moves toward her. He looks older now. He was always older than her, but she can actually see it now. There’s gray in his beard and more lines on his forehead. His features are similar, but she swears there’s an eeriness to his eyes and a lie to his smile. Maybe those were always there, but Emma imagines she was blind to it all when she loved him.

Amazing how opening her eyes to love blinded her to so much else.

“Emma? Is that you?”

No, jackass, it’s some other blonde woman walking into her parents house.

“Hi, Neal.” She forces a smile that she knows is awkward, but he was never good at reading her enough to know the difference between a real smile and a fake one. “What are you doing here?”

“You’ve just seen me for the first time in half a decade, and your first question is what I’m doing here? Nice to see you too, Ems.”

_ It’s illegal to murder, Emma, _ she reminds herself.  _ You don’t want to end up in jail because of him. _

“It’s my parents’ house. I’m supposed to be here. You’re not. So, again, what are you doing here?”

He shrugs and ignores her. “Who’s this?”

Emma turns to Killian who is staring ahead, his jaw clenched, and he speaks before she gets a chance to. “Killian Jones,” he begins, dropping a bag and reaching forward to shake Neal’s hand, “Emma’s boyfriend.”

Emma nearly chokes on her own air and possibly her own lungs and whatever else is down there, and she’s stuck. Her brain and her feet and especially her mouth are all stuck. What the hell is he doing?

“Emma’s boyfriend,” Neal repeats, his voice incredulous like the fact that she could have a boyfriend is ludicrous to him. “Really?”

“For awhile now,” Killian lies. Wow. Has he always been this good of a liar? “It’s nice to meet you, but I think Emma and I need to get inside and put our stuff away. It’s been a long drive.”

Neal nods, but Emma catches his eyes glance over at her. What was that? “I understand. I need to get my fiancée from inside, but then we’ll be on our way.”

Fiancée?

Neal has a fiancée? Who is in her parents’ house?

What kind of upside down hell has she walked into and how does she reverse time and get back to the place where things are normal?

“Nice seeing you,” Emma lies, but Neal is already walking inside, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him as if it’s his house to go into. She quickly turns to Killian and hopes her face conveys the “what the hell” look she’s going for. And in case it doesn’t, she hisses, “what the fuck was that?”

“Forgive me, love, but you obviously didn’t want to see that man, and I figured there wouldn’t be any harm in saying that. You weren’t planning on ever seeing him again, aye?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“So what’s the harm in him thinking you have a devilishly handsome new boyfriend?”

Emma rolls her eyes, ready to take the piss out of him, when her mother comes running out the front door.

“Emma, you brought a boyfriend home?”

Well, that’s the harm, Jones.

-/-

Emma tries explaining to her parents that Killian isn’t really her boyfriend, that he’s just her roommate who came home with her because he doesn’t have any family, but she never really gets the chance with Neal still hanging around. That would be mortifying, so she rolls with it, hoping that she can clear it all up sooner rather than later.

But Neal never seems to leave.

His fiancée, Tamara, apparently teaches with Emma’s mom, and from the looks of it, they’re great friends. She can’t imagine any other reason why her parents would let Neal Cassidy in their house, but then again, they have always been great at doing the exact opposite of what’s good for her. It’s torture, and as the night goes on, it seems like it’s never going to end.

When are they going to leave?

When can she stop listening to Killian falsify their life?

She’s got to say that he’s fantastic at taking truths and turning them into lies. According to him, they met when he became her roommate (true) and got to know each other as friends first (eh, a half-truth). Then, slowly, feelings started to develop in the little moments, and they decided to give their relationship a chance (unequivocally false).

He’s got this uncanny ability to make everything feel…not ridiculous. She doesn’t know the word she’s searching for, but she’s sure as hell that Killian could find it and incorporate it into a story to make everyone here think they’re in love.

Emma has no clue how they’re going to get out of this without her parents being heartbroken because Emma can see the hope and happiness in her mom’s eyes. She’s over the moon. Her dad, however, doesn’t seem to be.

Of course this is how it goes. Her mom is thrilled because she’s not a spinster, and her dad is upset because she’s not a spinster. 

“So what do you do, Killian?” he asks. “You need a roommate apparently.”

“Dad,” Emma hisses, wanting to sink into the couch, especially because she knows she’s the one who needs the roommate and not Killian. “Don’t.”

“What? I’m not allowed to ask about the man who my daughter is dating?”

“You are, but you’re not allowed to interrogate him.”

Killian places his hand over Emma’s on her thigh, and God, this really is the worst night. Why do people have to go home to family on the holidays? At least she didn’t automatically flinch at the feeling of Killian’s hand on hers. 

“I’m a contractor,” Killian tells her dad. “I used to work with my brother. It’s his business, but I’m the head on projects now. It’s hard and unpredictable sometimes when my job is to make it predictable, but it’s good work. There’s a lot of good new housing popping up in the neighborhoods outside of Boston. Beautiful new construction.”

“What happened to your brother?” her mom asks.

Killian’s hand tightens over hers while his other hand scratches behind his ear. “Liam passed last year. Car accident.”

Mary Margaret places her hands over her chest while Neal and Tamara look at each other, obviously ready to go. Emma, meanwhile, tries not to act shocked. She should know this. She should know that he had a brother who died. She’s heard him talk about Liam before, but she thought…she thought he was alive, just that he lived really, really far away or something like that.

“I’m so sorry, Killian,” Mary Margaret sighs.

“Thank you, Ms. Nolan.”

Silence falls in the room, and it feels like a lot of her time in high school when she got caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing. At least now she can have alcohol or drive away. One or the other, though, obviously. 

Or she can go back to that sinking into the ground thing. That seemed like a good idea. 

“Oh, would you look at the time,” Tamara sighs with a clap of her hands. “Honey, we need to go.”

“Won’t you stay for dinner?” Mary Margaret asks.

_ What the hell, Mom? _

__

“We really have to go,” Tamara insists. “It was nice seeing you guys, though.”

“Oh, it was wonderful seeing you, sweetie. Good luck in New York. You’re going to be great at your new job.” Mary Margaret hugs Tamara. “Nice seeing you as well, Neal. You’ll fit right in, but I know your dad will miss you.”

Emma is so busy trying to take in all of this brand new information that she doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation. Through blurred vision, she sees her mom hug Neal, and yeah, Emma wants to go home. She wants to go back to her apartment where she doesn’t have to put up with this kind of shit.

Where there’s no Neal and his fiancée and especially where her mom isn’t hugging her asshole of an ex and treating him like he’s a good person.

There’s a squeeze on her hand and suddenly, Killian’s fingers are wrapping around hers. That’s when everything snaps back, and she realizes Neal is telling her goodbye.

“Yeah, bye,” Emma mutters, putting on that fake smile again.

“Maybe we could go for lunch while I’m still in town,” he suggests.

Emma bites her tongue to keep from scoffing, but she can’t help the words that come out of her mouth. “Yeah, that’s not happening. Have fun in New York.”

Neal looks like a wounded puppy when Emma manages to look at him, but she doesn’t care. He shouldn’t have had the audacity to ask her in the first place, not after everything he’s done.

Happy holidays to them all.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret hisses as soon as the front door has shut and Neal and Tamara are gone, “that was so rude of you! You can go to lunch with Neal.”

“Oh my God, Mom,” Emma groans, letting go of Killian’s hand and standing up. “I am twenty-eight years old. I’m not going to go to lunch with the man who ruined my life because you don’t like being rude. Just…let’s eat dinner, and you guys can tell me what we have planned for this week. Killian is thrilled to go to the play. I told him all about it.”

“Emma, I still don’t think – ”

“Come on, Mary Margaret,” David sighs as he claps his hand on her shoulder. “Let’s get these two dinner. They had a long drive, and I’m sure they’re starving. You like ham, Jones?”

“Love it,” Killian says as he stands from the couch. “Can I help with anything?”

“You can get a wine bottle from the rack.”

They’re all going to need it. Or at least Emma is going to.

Dinner is, well, awkward, which Emma expected, but she expected the usual awkwardness of having dinner with her parents after going a year without seeing them. This is an entire other level. Killian tries to ease it. He’s put on his most charming smile, his accent coming through thicker with each story he tells, and while her Dad seems put out, her mom is every bit as charmed by him as Emma would expect.

That makes it all fine and good until Emma’s reminded that her parents think Killian is her boyfriend, and his place would go down in flames if she told the truth now.

As much as she would like to spite her mom, that is the last thing she needs. 

“So, Killian, you can stay in Emma’s room,” her mom says as they finish up dinner. “I’d have you stay in the guest room, but it’s currently filled with props and costumes for the play. But you're both adults. Who are we to keep you apart at night?”

“The couch would be fine,” Killian insists, holding his hands up.

“Nonsense, you are a guest here. You need to be comfortable. Let’s get you all settled and ready for bed.”

It’s almost like she’s in a trance as her mom guides them up the stairs to Emma’s old room. She vaguely hears her tell stories of different pictures hung on the wall by the staircase, but she doesn’t really notice. Instead, she hangs back with her dad who does not look thrilled at the whole situation.

For some reason that offends Emma. As far as her dad knows, she’s brought a man home for Christmas. A man who she loves enough to bring home, which is not all sunshine and roses for her. Once again, she’s jealous of the people who go home for the holidays and know it’s going to be a happy time.

“You know, you don’t have to act like I’m sixteen,” she tells her dad. “I live with this man. I think it’s okay for us to share a bedroom here for the week.”

“What makes you think I’m not happy about this. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Emma stops at the landing and turns to her Dad, crossing her arms over her chest and staring him down. Or up. She forgot how much taller her dad is than her.

“Try a little harder to make that believable.”

David laughs and leans forward to kiss her forehead. “Welcome home, kid. I’m glad you  _ and _ Killian are here.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to post each of these a week apart, buuuuuut you guys were literally the nicest so I think you deserve the next chapter a few days early. 
> 
> 🎄🎄🎄🎄

Emma’s room isn’t anything like Killian thought. He didn’t put much thought into it of course, but since he knows that her bedroom in the apartment is white linens and clean lines without much decoration, he wasn’t expecting so much…pattern. There are a hell of a lot of patterns. Two walls are painted in horizontal green stripes, the comforter is floral, and there’s a spotted chair in the corner of the room. Somehow, it all melds together, but that may be because Killian is buzzed on confusion and curiosity. It certainly wasn’t the small glass of wine at dinner that has him feeling this way. His alcohol tolerance is much higher than that.

Bloody hell, it’s been an evening, and that’s putting it lightly.

When he accepted Emma’s invitation to come home with her for the holidays, he knew it would be awkward. He was traveling to a town he knew nothing about and spending five days with people he didn’t know. Well, besides Emma, and as he’s learned over the past few hours, he doesn’t know as much about Emma as he thought he did.

To him, she’s his roommate. She grumbles and complains and is angry in the mornings before her coffee, goes off to work, and then comes home and is a more tired version of that. She hits her sweet spot after she goes to the gym and then eats dinner. That’s when she’s relaxed and will have a drink with him and watch whatever they find on TV. Last week they stumbled upon the Bachelor, and he doesn’t think he’s ever laughed so hard at something that wasn’t a comedy. Emma joined in with him, and they ended up finding more episodes online to watch.

It was a night that wouldn’t have nearly as humorous without alcohol, but he liked it.

He likes all of his nights like that with Emma. They’re few and far between, but when they have them, Killian savors them. He thought maybe this week would be like an extended version of that, a time to peel back the layers of Emma Swan that she hides under that red leather jacket of hers.

Er, Nolan. Emma Nolan, not Swan.

Apparently her original last name is Nolan. One tiny piece of information that he’s learned and hasn’t known what to do with.

It’s all been downhill since the moment she told him that, and now Killian is stripping out of his clothes and getting ready to share a bed with Emma because her parents and her ex-boyfriend think they’re dating.

_What a bloody brilliant idea that was, Jones._

If Liam were here, he’d slap the backside of Killian’s head and force him to encourage Emma to tell the truth, but Liam was always a self-righteous asshole. He never understood the nuances of the situation, and he has a feeling he’s going to be Emma’s boyfriend for the next few days to save face in front of her parents.

There are worse ways to spend Christmas, like alone in a dark apartment wishing his roommate were home to binge TV shows with him so he wouldn’t be by himself for the holidays for another year.

Or off at a bar finding a woman to share his bed, being satisfied for a moment, and then the loneliness hitting harder and deeper after his bedsheets have cooled.

So he’s here, staring at Emma’s bed and wondering if a queen-sized bed has ever been so small or a comforter less inviting. He’d like to be a gentleman and take the floor, but he also did a fucking number on his back last week at work. He doesn’t think he’d ever be able to move were he to sleep on the floor for a week.

The bedroom door swings open, and Emma stumbles inside in a pair of shorts and this oversized t-shirt she’s always wearing. He tries not to stare at her legs, but God, what a pair. “I like the right side,” she sighs before pulling back the covers and slipping under them. “And this pillow.”

“Well, alright then.”

He closes the door and then crosses the room, settling on the free side of the bed. Emma yanks the comforter away as she tries to get settled, and he waits for her to be ready as he lays on his back. Emma, after much tossing and turning, does the same. Her arm is gently pressing up against him, the warmth of it a contrast to the chill of the ceiling fan that’s creaking above them, and Killian cannot get over how goddamn weird this all is.

He’s been in a lot of odd situations in his life simply because his history isn’t the most stable, but ever since he’s gotten his life mostly together, this is the most peculiar.

“So,” Killian sighs, tapping his fingers over his stomach, “that was certainly something.”

Emma grunts, one he recognizes from the nights after she has a bad date, and he doesn’t expect a response from her. If this evening has been awkward for him, he cannot imagine how hellish it has been for her.

They should have stayed in their apartment and moped together. At least then there would be no one around to put on a facade for.

“It was a fucking nightmare is what is was,” Emma sighs. “I mean, God, my parents had Neal here. Neal. What the hell were they thinking? They knew I was coming. How could they do that?”

She flips over again, turning her back to him, and Killian twists his head to watch her blonde locks fall down her back. She’s always been slight of figure, but Killian doesn’t think she’s ever looked so small. “My apologies for telling him you and I were dating. I assumed we wouldn’t see him again. I didn’t realize he would tell your parents and that we’d be in such dire straits. I didn’t think before I spoke.”

“Neal makes everything complicated. I don’t…I mean, how many times have I used the ‘I have a boyfriend’ line when I don’t? It’s so easy, so effective, works great at bars. I’ve never factored in my parents.” She sighs and turns again until she’s on her back and twisting her head to look at him, the moonlight shining inside to illuminate some of her freckles. She’ll likely be restless like this all night. “I can’t believe my parents think we’re dating. I mean, seriously. You and me?”

“No need to act so offended. I actually quite fancy you from time to time when you’re not yelling at me.”

Emma rolls her eyes as he smiles, not bothering to stifle his laugh. “Shut up, Jones. How are you not pissed off about all of this? I invited you to my parents’ house, and now you’re sleeping in my childhood bed and are pretending to be my boyfriend out of what I can only assume is some misguided version of British chivalry.”

“You know chivalry didn’t only exist in England, aye?”

She kicks at his leg. “Seriously. How are you not yelling at me? You yell at me when I finish the last of the milk and don’t put a note on the fridge.”

“Bloody obnoxious that,” he tells her, flashing a brighter smile that he knows she doesn’t appreciate. “I find this whole thing, eh, horrible, but also weirdly amusing. It’s a hell of a lot better than sitting alone in the apartment for the week. I can see a lot worse ways to spend the holidays than to pretend to be dating a woman with an ass like yours.”

“Charming.”

“I try.” She closes her eyes, and Killian decides to share a little more than he’s usually willing to. What was in that wine? “Look, Swan, you heard me mention my brother. He was the only family I had besides a few cousins in South Shields I’ve never met, so the holidays aren’t a great time for me. At least here, in this insane situation, I get to have a little fun. And the look on that wanker’s face when I told him we were dating was worth it all for me.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“Any man who has you sweating like that is a wanker.”

Emma huffs, he assumes in agreement, but sometimes her grunts aren’t simple to read. She moves her arm until it falls against his once more. “I don’t want to talk about him. Or my parents. Let’s just go with the story you came up with earlier and let it play out. I promise I’ll figure out a way to pay you back when we get home. Believe it or not, this probably won’t be the shittiest Christmas we’ve ever had.”

Killian laughs and twists to his side until he’s resting his cheek on the pillow. Emma does the same. This is every bit as odd as he thought it would be, but as long as he stays on his side of the bed in the morning when he’s half-erect, he thinks it’ll be fine.

“Just who are you, Swan?” he whispers as the fan screeches above them.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she whispers right back, a sliver of moonlight hitting right over the green of her iris.

“Perhaps I would.”

“Goodnight, Jones.” She flips over for what he hopes is the final time. “See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Swan.”

“Nolan,” she corrects. “You can only call me Swan when no one else is around.”

-/-

Killian knows before he’s opened his eyes that he shifted in his sleep. He or Emma both have, and when he opens them in the early morning light, he can see it was mostly Emma who moved. She’s got one arm draped over him, one leg to join in, and her head is nestled beneath his shoulder. He’s seen her passed out on the couch enough to know she’s a heavy sleeper, so while he prefers to linger in bed and read through messages on mornings where he’s not going to the gym, he knows he needs to get up now and shower before any problem arises more than it already has.

Slowly, he moves Emma off him, gently guiding her head to his pillow, and he gingerly walks toward his suitcase, pulling out a pair of jeans and a dark sweater for the day. He grabs his bag of toiletries and then leaves the room, walking to the bathroom across the hall.

The warm water comes in slowly, but when it does, it’s soothing on his skin. He tries not to think of everything that happened yesterday, of all the questions he is, or of all that’s in front of him today and for the rest of the week. It is what it is, and if Killian knows anything, it’s that overthinking and worrying won’t save him from any stress. It will only add to it.

Doesn’t keep him from doing it. Now may be the only time he wished he brought his laptop so he could work, but from what he can tell, he won’t be awarded much alone time.

He lingers in the shower a little longer than usual to bide his time, but eventually he gets out and brushes his teeth and trims his beard. He doesn’t know if he should go back to Emma’s room or head downstairs, but as it’s quiet in the house, he thinks it’ll be safe to head to the kitchen and fix himself some coffee.

He’s wrong as he immediately runs into Emma’s father who is sitting at the kitchen table with a newspaper spread across it.

“Morning, Mr. Nolan.” Killian nods toward the coffee pot. “Do you mind if I – ”

“Help yourself,” David huffs, his morning demeanor similar to Emma’s. “Milk and creamer in the fridge. Sugar is on the counter in the jar, and the mugs are in the cabinet above the machine.”

“Thank you.” Killian opens the cabinet and looks through the mugs. Most of them seem to be gifts from Mary Margaret’s students, but there are a few in the shape of animals. Killian grabs one that looks like a cat and pours himself a cup, adding a little sugar. He doesn’t know if he should stand or join David at the table, but he decides not joining him would be the worst option.

The chair scratches against the floor when he pulls it out, but David pays him no mind. He simply continues to read the paper and sip on his coffee. Somehow, this is more awkward than all of yesterday, and Neal and his fiancée were here then.

Killian realizes he’s facing the reality of the situation now, and he’s not entirely ready for it. It was much safer when he and Emma were talking about it in the darkness of her room.

What is he supposed to talk about with Emma’s father? All he knows about the man is that he’s a veterinarian, he’s been with his wife for thirty-five years, he enjoys running, and he has a complicated relationship with his only daughter. Emma didn’t say that, but Killian picked up on a few things.

If their relationship was good, they wouldn’t have invited Neal into their home, no matter how much time has passed.

“Do you and Emma have any plans today?” David asks him, not looking up.

“I believe we’re helping to finish decorating at the school for the performance before she shows me a little of the town. And tonight we’re decorating your tree, aye?”

“Sounds like a busy day.”

“Emma isn’t one for sitting still.”

David laughs. “Certainly not while she’s here.” He puts the newspaper down just as Killian raises his mug to his lips. “Why didn’t Emma tell us she was bringing you home with her?”

He scratches his ear with his free hand. “I believe that’s a question for Emma.”

“But I asked you.”

Shit. “Eh, I believe, if I may be so bold, she wanted it to be a surprise so there was no time for the two of you to prepare your interrogation. It seems you’ve found the time.”

Killian hopes for a laugh, but he doesn’t get one. He has to remind himself Emma isn’t actually his girlfriend, so it doesn’t matter what David thinks of him. Sometime soon on one of Emma’s few calls with her parents, she’ll tell them she and Killian are no longer together. He’ll be nothing more than her roommate, and everything will go back to normal.

That doesn’t make David any less terrifying.

“Emma hasn’t brought someone home since she was with Graham. Do you know about Graham?”

“Aye,” he lies. He’s got no bloody clue who the man is.

“He was a great guy, an honorable man, and Emma loved him. Then he moved across the country for work. Emma didn’t move with him, and she hasn’t ever mentioned another man. So imagine my surprise when you come waltzing into my home with your arm around my daughter’s shoulders.”

“Imagine her surprise when her ex-boyfriend was sitting on her parents’ front porch. I can’t imagine that was pleasant either.”

“Who I have in my home is none of your concern.”

Killian takes a long gulp of his coffee, and it burns down his throat. “Look, Dave,” Killian sighs, “I don’t mean to offend you. I simply want what’s best for your daughter. I care about her deeply, and I know coming home is hard for her. Coming home and seeing Neal being comfortable in this house, well, there was a look in Emma’s eyes I so rarely see. It hurt her, and I don’t want this week to be hard for her. I’d like for her, for all of you, to have a nice time.” He leans forward and forces a charming smile, widening his eyes several times. “Don’t worry, mate, I’ll grow on you.”

He finally gets his laugh. “I doubt that, but I appreciate the effort. You like pancakes?”

“Love them.”

“Good. I make them special, and I guarantee the scent will bring the Nolan women downstairs.”

The smell of the pancakes do bring Emma and Mary Margaret downstairs. Mary Margaret first, dressed and ready for the day with a chipper voice, and Emma later still in her pajamas with her hair mussed and pillow creases on her cheek. She isn’t chipper, nearly cries when coffee isn’t ready, and is so tired that she leans on his shoulder for support standing up. Killian wraps his arm around her waist, fingers inching between her shorts and her shirt to touch a warm sliver of skin. She jerks away for a moment, and he has to give her a look to remind her of the web of lies they’ve managed to find themselves in.

If Rob and Scarlet ever found out this was how he’s spending his week, they’d never let him hear the end of it.

He hopes this is not a story Emma relays to them when they’re back home and everything is normal once more.

“Morning, love,” Killian whispers, planting a kiss to her temple because he knows it’ll rile her up. “Sleep well?”

“Just great,” she says as she pinches some skin on his back.

“So no need for coffee and pancakes?”

She pinches him again. “I will murder you if you don’t let me have my coffee.”

This may be more fun than he expected.

“Oh,” Mary Margaret sighs, “you two are just so sweet. Let’s have breakfast real fast and then get dressed to go to the school. You wouldn’t believe the amount of work we have to do before tomorrow night.”

Or not.

-/-

Mary Margaret wasn’t lying when she said they had a lot of work to do. All of the decorations and props were left in boxes on the stage and despite the chill in the auditorium of Storybrooke Elementary, Killian manages to break a sweat. He and Emma put together five different artificial Christmas trees, string lights on them, and while Mary Margaret attempts to find the garland and the ornaments, he’s instructed to climb to the top of the ladder and hang oversized ornaments from a slightly flimsy string. If a kid is hit on the head by one tomorrow night, it is not his fault.

He imagines he’ll certainly be blamed, especially by David.

Things go well until Tamara stops by, saying she wanted to see everything before she left, and Emma’s shoulders visibly tense before she stumbles backward on the small step stool she’s standing on.

Killian lunges forward and grabs onto her waist, keeping her from falling and hurting herself.

“You okay there, love?”

“Fine. Didn’t need anyone to save me.”

“The way you were falling says differently.”

“Just…shut up and help me put the damn topper on the tree.”

He mockingly bows. “As you wish.”

After that, things go smoothly. There are no surprise visitors, no one nearly falling from ladders, and after several hours, they finally get the Mary Margaret seal of approval that everything is perfect for the Christmas Eve play. It’s at that moment Killian realizes this is far too similar to one of the made for TV movies a girl he used to see would have on the TV. Hallmark. That’s what Emma had told him when she invited him here. It’s similar to a Hallmark movie, but Killian can see the cracks in the façade everywhere.

It’s most obvious when Mary Margaret asks if Emma is coming home for lunch and Emma immediately says she’s taking Killian to lunch. She barely gives her mother the time to finish her question before she’s grabbing Killian’s hand and dragging him out of the auditorium and down the street.

She doesn’t talk, doesn’t explain where they’re going, and her grip is so tight on his hand that he may lose it.

“Swan,” he starts, tugging her back until she slows down, “Swan.”

Emma throws her hair back, her ponytail swishing from side to side, and slowly, they start to walk at a normal pace as Emma releases his hand. He recognizes this part of town as the downtown they drove through when first entering the city, and just like then, it’s full of people walking down the sidewalks and wandering through the store to finish up their Christmas shopping. It’s a sized down version of Boston, but he doesn’t fear a car hitting him if he so much as slightly veers off the sidewalk.

Killian lets Emma lead until they walk up the steps to a small diner, a little bell dinging when they walk in, and without hesitation, Emma plops down in a corner booth before she rests her forehead on the table. Killian slides in across from her, taking in the woodland wallpaper, and letting Emma have time to breathe. He’d say she was being dramatic, but if he ever had to have Christmas with his father, he’d do a hell of a lot more than rest his head on a slightly sticky diner table.

“Here’s a menu, hon,” a waitress says as she hands him a large menu. “Special today is clam chowder.”

“Grilled cheese and onion rings,” Emma mutters before sitting up. “He wants the house salad and the chowder.”

“How do you know I want that?”

“Because it’s going to be the healthiest thing you’ll find on that menu.”

“Then house salad and chowder it is,” Killian says. “And two waters and two coffees please.”

“Gotcha. I’ll be back with all that in a jiffy.” She pops her gum and walks away, leaving Killian to sit with Emma. It’s no different than all the meals they’ve shared except for the lack of television to break up the monotony and the silence.

“So, grilled cheese and onion rings?” he asks.

“Don’t judge. It’s comfort food, and I love it. If I gain ten pounds this week, it’ll be a small price to pay for my sanity.” She reaches up and adjusts her ponytail before slumping down in the booth. “Did my dad do another one of his tough dad talks this morning?”

“Eh, slightly. Nothing I couldn’t handle since I’m not actually your boyfriend.”

She sinks into the booth even further, her chin hidden in her scarf. “My parents are pieces of work. I’m sorry. I should have told you that before we came. I just figured it wouldn’t be this bad since I thought you’d only be coming as a friend and they’d put on the big nice show they put on for guests.”

“I don’t mind them, actually. It could be worse.”

“God,” Emma groans, burying her face in her hands, “I’m just…my dad is okay. He really is. He’s, like, the whole All American, wear plaid and shake hands with everyone type of guy. Everyone wants to be his friend, including animals. And my mom is like Snow White. Birds help her get dressed in the morning, she has all these little helpers, and she’s just this sweet woman.”

“That seems nice.”

“Yeah, but, that also means she believes everyone is good and full of kindness except for her own daughter. I mean, you saw the way she treated Neal. She had him in our house. _Our house_. And she acted like he was this angel she was so proud of because she could never actually believe he is a piece of shit human being.”

This is dangerous territory he’s dipping his toes into, and one wrong step will lead this tentative relationship into a loaded area, one where they’re roommates who speak but don’t really talk.

He could use another friend, if he’s totally honest, and if he’s even more honest, he hopes that Emma could be that for him. He thinks she may need a friend as well.

Mostly, though, he’s got to make sure he still has a room in the apartment when they get back to Boston.

Emma sharing personal information with him is always like a ticking time bomb. There are only so many chances to ask questions before she blows up and the opportunity goes away.

“How long were you two together?”

She rolls her shoulders back and sits up, looking away from him so he can no longer see the green of her eyes but instead the tenseness in her jaw. “Five years. Got together when I was sixteen. He was, well, he was older, and I fell hard and fast, figured I’d do anything to stay with him, and I did. I gave up going to college, moving to the city I wanted to move to, having any kind of friends. I let him control my life because he was the only thing I knew. Then one day I woke up, and he was gone. His stuff was gone, and so was he. I was left with a crap waitressing job and rent I couldn’t afford, not to mention a broken heart. And I knew in my gut he was never coming back because everyone always leaves.”

He thinks of Neal, of the Graham David mentioned earlier, of all of the men he got glimpses of and never saw again.

Emma shrugs and looks back to him, weary smile on her lips. “There’s a hell of a lot more to it, but afterward, I basically reinvented myself so that he could never come back, including the last name change, so I was…it was a lot seeing him and seeing my mom be so nice to him. She always blamed me for our breakup, and…you know what, none of it matters. I shouldn’t be telling you any of this anyway.”

_Tick, tick..._

“Swan, I – ”

“It’s fine, Killian,” she promises, flashing him a smile anyone with eyes would know is fake. “This week was supposed to let you have a good Christmas, not have you dive head first into my pile of shit and failure.”

_...boom._

Time’s up.

Killian reaches across the table and places his hand over hers. “I have yet to see you fail.”

Emma glances down at their hands, and Killian does the same, watching her fingers twitch until they twist, each one slowly coming to twine together with his. Killian’s breath hitches, but he stifles the sound, not letting it fully develop.

“Grilled cheese and onion rings,” the waitress says, and Emma yanks her hand away as Killian’s lingers on the table. “And house salad and clam chowder. And here are those drinks.”

Everything is placed in front of them, and they sit in mostly silence as they eat. The food is good, though he imagines Emma’s greasy meal is better, and he stifles his chuckle as Emma’s shoulders move while she stuffs her mouth with onion rings.

“What?” she mumbles, covering her full mouth with her hand.

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just amazing how food puts you in such a good mood.”

“Food is the best part of some days. I don’t know how it wouldn’t put you in a good mood.” She finishes chewing and drops her hand. “Hey, after we finish, do you want to get out of here and go to my favorite part of the town? I figured we could use some fun and a bit of a workout?”

“Why, darling,” he croons, leaning forward and arching his brow, “are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

“In your dreams, Jones.”

“You keep saying that. I’m not sure you’re privy to what is in my dreams.”

“And I definitely don’t want to find out.”

-/-

She takes him to the beach. They keep their boots on as they walk on the sand, the water only occasionally getting close, and he stares at the horizon as they wander. There’s no one else out here, the chill of air and nip of the wind too cold, and it’s peaceful.

Killian is always glad to have a little peace when it feels like there hasn’t been a lot of it in his life in the past few years.

He can easily see why this is Emma’s favorite place in the town with the soothing sound of the ocean surrounding them and the sand underneath their feet. It’s far away from downtown or the other busy districts, and Emma, much like him, is definitely someone who appreciates solitude.

For a moment, he thinks that’s the only reason Emma likes this area, but then they walk toward a collection of rocks that she begins to climb. He follows, watching his steps over the ragged edges, and now he knows what she meant about working up a sweat. It’s an uphill climb, but when they reach the top, there’s a small clearing that overlooks the town. Emma sits down on some grass, her legs dangling over the cliffside, and he joins her. When Emma pulls two beers from her bag, he laughs.

“When did you manage to get those?”

“Granny’s.”

“I didn’t see you buy these.”

Emma twists the top open. “I didn’t. Not technically. Got them from the fridge in the backroom of Granny’s.” Killian opens his mouth but is stopped. “You know Ruby? Granny is, well, her grandmother. I left her some cash so she’ll know it was me.”

“You’ve got connections all across this town, don’t you?”

“Sometimes it works in my favor.”

A large wave crashes down below, and the blue fades into white bubbles. He can see what feels like the entire town from here, the clock tower in the middle of it his guiding point, and now he can really see why Emma likes this place so much.

It’s where she comes to get away when she feels trapped.

He’d do the same.

-/-

“What are you wearing?”

“Do not judge me.”

“I’m judging.”

“I said not to!”

Killian tries not to stare. He does. But that is proving impossible.

They’ve just excused themselves after dinner and watching Home Alone with Emma’s parents while putting the last of the decorations on the tree and are getting ready for bed. Emma has just changed into what can only be described as a lingerie set. A conservative one but a teddy all the same.

“You cut quite the figure in that dress even if you’ll be beyond chilled in it.” He holds his hands out, shaking his head, and Emma rolls her eyes and gets into bed before rubbing lotion on her arms.

“I spilled syrup on the one set of pajamas I brought this morning. I found this at the bottom of my suitcase, probably from the last time I went somewhere, and I figured what the hell? It’s comfortable, and it’s clean. Don’t get any ideas.”

“Like what?”

“Like what you were thinking when you first saw me walk into the room.”

“I’m certainly not complaining about the outfit, but I promise not to get any ideas.”

Killian pulls off his t-shirt to mess with her, and he watches her eyes glance him up and down. Gotcha, Swan.

“Hey,” he says, “my eyes are up here.”

Emma tilts her head back with laughter. “Is that what you tell all your women?”

“Only you.” He joins her in bed, sitting up in bed, and he thumbs through his phone, checking his Instagram and reading bits of the news. “Hey, Swan?”

“Yeah?”

“Smile. I need to document the moment I managed to get Emma Swan in bed in lingerie.”

“If you post this anywhere, I won’t let you take a hot shower for all of next month.”

“Deal.”

Emma twists until she’s pressed up against him, and Killian takes a few pictures before putting his phone down. They both settle back into their own spaces, and this odd week becomes a little more normal.

“What crazy things will your parents have us doing tomorrow?”

“Besides the play, I think you and I are free to do whatever we want.”

“Do you want to go for a run with me in the morning?”

“Only if you promise to sit and binge watch TV with me for the rest of the day. It’s my Christmas Eve celebration of choice.”

“I think I can handle that.”

-/-

Killian drags Emma out for a run the next morning. She comes kicking and screaming because he doesn’t let her have coffee first and then because it’s cold, but eventually her legs start working for her to keep up with him. The run makes sitting around on the couch and slowly but surely eating Mary Margaret’s cookies all the more rewarding.

“There’s more icing on you than on that cookie,” Emma laughs as Killian chews on a sugar cookie. “I didn’t know you were capable of eating so many sweets.”

“It happens from time to time.” He wipes his face but apparently doesn’t get all the icing as Emma reaches over toward him and wipes it away, her thumb brushing the corner of his mouth and lingering a second too long. “Thanks, love.”

She slowly blinks and then pulls her hand away, collapsing back to her spot on the couch. “Yeah, well, wouldn’t want you to walk around all day with icing on your face.”

“How embarrassing for me.”

“I’m going to get some hot chocolate. You want some?”

“How much sugar is in it?”

Emma rolls her eyes and leans forward, getting in Killian’s face and smiling. “All of the sugar. Don’t worry. We’ll go for a walk later, cement your status as an old man, and keep you from getting that Santa belly.” She pats his stomach and walks away, swaying her hips as she goes.

He watches every second of it.

What the hell just happened?

-/-

Mary Margaret pries them off the couch and forces them to get dressed for the Christmas Eve play. Killian puts on a pair of his navy trousers and a button-down before grabbing his coat to keep him warm. It takes him five minutes to get ready, including his hair despite what Emma is always saying about how much time he spends on his hair, and that’s how he ends up sitting in the living room with David, the two of them sitting in near silence waiting for Emma and Mary Margaret.

Knowing a little more about Emma’s relationship with her parents makes the silence feel especially strained. He imagines there are years more worth of hurt and complications, but he doubts he’ll ever know any of that. His dad is a drunk who abandoned him and Liam, but affection was not present before he left. Killian never had a good relationship with his dad, not even when his mom was sick. He imagines Emma has many good memories with her parents or she wouldn’t be here at all.

Neal being here that first night ruined everything, but when there’s a creak at the top of the stairs and Killian sees Emma walking downstairs in a figure-hugging green velvet dress with her hair flowing down her back in loose curls. She’s got it pinned back with a headband, and she cuts quite the figure in that dress as well.

She cuts quite the figure in everything, and he doesn’t need a nice dress for him to know she’s beautiful.

Though, it is far too nice a dress to be worn while sitting in a darkened audience watching children poorly sing.

Killian stands from the couch and scratches his ear as he looks up and down her body, taking it all in once more. “Emma, you look – ”

“I know,” she says, cheekily looking away before winking at him. He has no idea how much of it is an act for her father or simply Emma talking to him.

Killian chuckles and hands Emma her coat, helping her put it on as Mary Margaret hurries down the stairs with several large tote bags. “Come on. We’re going to be late.”

No one bothers to tell her that she was the last one to finish getting dressed.

When they get to the auditorium, David goes off somewhere with Mary Margaret, likely to greet students and parents, and Emma pulls Killian to a seat in the back of the room away from most other people. She’s hiding. He nearly suggests they go to where her parents are going to be sitting, but he doesn’t want to get his head snapped off.

It’s for the best, though, because the moment the singing begins and several children decide to go rogue, Killian knows he never would have been able to keep from laughing. It doesn’t help that Emma is mocking the show. She knows all the words, and Killian has a feeling Mary Margaret has been putting on this performance since Emma was a child.

“I know it’s horrible to do,” Emma whispers, “and that these parents are proud of their kids, but I can’t help myself.”

“How many times have you had to see this play?”

“Nearly every year since I was eight.”

Killian looks around them, making sure no one is paying them any attention, and he pulls his flask out of his pocket, handing it over to Emma.

“I think I may be in love with you,” she gasps, pressing the flask to her lips. “Seriously. You’ve never been sexier to me than right now.”

“Good to know,” Killian laughs. “Provide Emma with alcohol, and she will find you sexy.”

“Alcohol and pastries.”

Killian taps his forefinger to temple. “Cementing that in my memory. Now give me the damn flask. I’m only sharing it with you. Not giving it to you.”

“If you insist.”

By the end of the play, he and Emma are buzzed. There’s no other way to put it. They’re not drunk, still know exactly what they’re saying and doing, but if they way they’re both laughing at the play is any indication, neither of them need to be driving. Emma wraps her hands around Killian’s elbow when they walk, and she buries her face in his shoulder when she tries but fails to keep a straight face when telling her mother how great everything was.

It’s the best time she’s had with her mom the entire trip, and while Killian understands the strained relationship, he hopes maybe they can keep the good moments up.

When they get back to the house, Emma kicks off her heels at the doorway and practically skips into the kitchen, laughing as she makes fun of Killian for getting asked out by one of the kid’s moms when they were walking out of the school.

“It’s the hair and the eyes,” Emma tells him while getting the ingredients out for yet another batch of hot chocolate. The stairs groan as David and Mary Margaret walk upstairs to go to bed, and Killian waves goodnight to them. “That’s why all the moms think you’re hot.”

“I’ve told you, love, I’m devilishly handsome. Dashing, really. Irresistible.”

“Okay, okay, don’t take it too far.”

Killian moves toward her, invading her space by putting his arms on either side of her waist and planting his hands on the counter. He can feel the heat of her body this way, smell the vanilla in her hair, and he doesn’t imagine the way she leans into him. There’s certainly nothing fake about that.

“Something smells delicious,” Killian whispers into her ear.

“The hot chocolate isn’t ready yet.”

“I wasn’t talking about the hot chocolate.”

He nuzzles his nose into her ear, dragging it along her jaw, and God, she’s intoxicating. She always has been, even when she is yelling at him or he her, but rarely has he had the opportunity to be this close.

Rarely has he allowed himself to give in to his thoughts of how attracted he is to Emma.

Right now he can’t seem to stop.

Killian becomes a little bolder, more brazen, and he gently presses his lips to the underside of her jaw. Emma gasps and pushes her backside toward him until they’re pressed together. Her skin is sweet on his tongue, her body wondrous in his grasp, and he could get lost in time as long as she continues to make these delicious little sounds he’d like to memorize to play as often as possible.

He’d like to memorize her next sound as well, even if he knows it sounds utterly ridiculous.

“To hell with the hot chocolate.”

Her mouth is warm when it presses against his for the first time. Her lips are much softer than he imagined, and he certainly did imagine it. He knew she would taste of rum and the peppermint candy she had earlier, but the burning sensation still surprises him. That was unexpected.

Then again, so is kissing fucking Emma Swan.

The past two and a half days have been damn well ridiculous, and he managed to put himself in a situation where he is pretending to date Emma. They haven’t changed much besides the occasional hand holding or kiss on the cheek, and it hasn’t been until this moment that Killian’s realized that.

Huh.

But bloody hell, he doesn’t have time to think about that when Emma’s tongue is doing something particularly spectacular and heat gravitates toward his groin as she moves against him, hands in hair and body pushing him backward until he’s sitting on the kitchen table and she’s practically straddling him.

It’s amazing is what it is, and even though a small, obnoxious voice that sounds a little like Liam is telling him to slow down, Killian can’t. Instead, he runs one hand down Emma’s back until it’s got a firm grip on her ass while the other plants itself in her hair, twisting her head to deepen the kiss until she’s breathless and writhing against him.

This is not how he thought this night would go, but Killian would be crazy to complain.

Emma’s fingers fall from his hair and caress his shoulders until they’re fumbling with the buttons on his shirt all the while she’s kissing his neck. His hand finds the hem of her dress, pulling it up until he can feel exposed skin. It’s a mess of mouths and hands and a little bit of hair getting in the way, but his skin is burning with desire. He wants to be touched as much as he wants to touch Emma, and he doesn’t think anything could stop him.

“Um, am I interrupting something?”

Except for Emma’s mom walking in on them.


	3. Chapter Three

_Oh my God._

Like, oh my freaking God.

Emma groans. Or at least she thinks she does. She can’t hear much of anything over the pounding of her heart and the hissing steam coming out of her ears like an angry animated character.

Seriously, Mom. _Seriously_. _What the hell?_

“No,” Emma manages to say, pulling back from Killian. She snatches her hands away from his chest and moves her lips from his mouth, but the bastard still has his hand planted on her ass, keeping her pressed against him on the kitchen table.

Oh shit. She was just about to sleep with Killian on the kitchen table where she did her homework growing up, where she has breakfast with her family.

She was just about to sleep with Killian.

What the hell is wrong with her? Did she take medication she’s not aware of because this is...this is definitely not her.

(Or it is, but she doesn’t want to admit it.)

“Yes,” Killian mutters seconds after her. “Yes, you were.”

She gapes at him and then slaps his chest, and he glances away from her mom to look at her, eyebrows raised and slightly swollen lips smirking at him. It makes her realize her face is sensitive from the scratch of his beard, and she reaches up to touch her mouth.

What is she doing? What has she done?

Emma shakes her head. “What are you doing down here? You and Dad went to bed.”

“Um,” her mom hums, switching her feet, “I was going to get some water, but I don’t need it now. I’ll go back to bed and see you two in the morning. Happy Christmas Eve, Emma. Killian. Goodnight.”

“Happy Christmas Eve, ma’am,” Killian says back. Emma doesn’t think she can speak anymore, especially when Killian’s hand is still on her ass.

Emma was buzzing earlier tonight. That is long gone.

She watches as her mom walks away, the old stairs giving away her movements, and even when all the noise begins to disappear, Emma finds her feet planted in the same place they were. That has to stop.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, pulling back from Killian enough that they’re separated. “Oh my God. What the hell?”

Emma starts pacing, her hands tugging on her hair, and she really, really wants to scream at the top of her lungs right now despite knowing that would be a bad idea. The last thing she needs is her dad waking up and coming downstairs to find her in the state she’s in. The state Killian’s in too. His pants are ridiculously tight, and they don’t hide much.

_Holy crap, she did that._

“Emma, love,” Killian begins, and she does a horrible job at ignoring how destroyed his voice sounds, “that was – ”

Emma spins around to look at him. “A one-time thing,” she finishes. “We can’t do that again. We’re tipsy, we’re not thinking straight. We just need…what we need is to get ready for bed and sleep it off. Tomorrow is Christmas, and then we’ll be going home early the next day. They’ll be no more of this idiotic putting on a show for my parents, and we’ll get back to thinking like rational people. Agreed?”

He looks down before looking at her. “Aye, agreed.” Killian stands from the table and brushes past her. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a cold and bracing shower. Feel free to finish making your hot cocoa.”

He walks out of the room, and Emma is left in the kitchen staring at everything spread out across the counter and the now-cooled milk sitting in the pan on the stove. Her body is still on edge, desire a permanent fixture deep in her belly, but she refuses to think about any of that. She had her little moment of fun, and now it’s gone. She’s back to just trying to survive this time at home before she gets to go back to Boston and try to survive her time there as well.

What an awesome recurring theme for her life.

Emma puts away all the hot chocolate ingredients, pouring the milk down the drain and rinsing off the pan before she turns off all the lights downstairs and walks upstairs. Killian is in the bathroom, so she strips out of her dress in her room and quickly changes into some pajamas she bought today on their way to the play. That dress was freezing last night, and she needed something that covered a lot more of her skin since she still hasn’t managed to get around to washing her clothes.

She’s so glad she did that now.

She makes do with makeup remover wipes, hoping her skin forgives her for one night of not washing her face, and she does the same with her toothpaste, rubbing it on her teeth with her finger. She could wait until Killian gets out of the shower, but since she knows exactly what he’s doing in there, she’d rather just deal with the cards she’s been dealt and go to bed. That way she doesn’t have to see him or talk to him for the rest of the night. It’ll be better that way. There will be fewer opportunities for her to mess everything up.

Emma turns her ceiling fan off, hating the way it creaks when it spins, and gets under the covers, pulling them up and basking in how warm her bed is. She needs to invest in one of these mattress heaters back in Boston because damn, this is great.

She’s comfortable, tired, still a little tipsy despite her mom’s interruption sobering her, and on any other night, she’d easily be able to fall asleep. Tonight, her mind has decided to run a marathon in record-setting time.

Seriously. What’s wrong with her? Why would she do this? Why is she always making dumb decisions like this? It’s got to be a medical condition at this point, and whatever pills she needs to go on to make it stop, Emma is willing to sign up.

Why would she kiss Killian?

He was the one who started it, sure. She was going to make them hot chocolate even if it was her third mug of the day, and they were probably just going to chill on the couch and find a movie to watch like they’d been doing most of the day. Then Killian came up to her and pressed up against her. He was so warm and smelled fantastic, and when he ran his nose against her ear, Emma could have melted.

She doesn’t melt over guys. Nope. She is not that type of girl. She is not freaking Frosty the Snowman.

It’s a physical attraction. That must be it. She knows he’s hot, she knows he thinks she’s hot, and it’s not something they’ve necessarily denied all this time. There are always jokes and little looks and a hell of a lot of teasing moments, but it’s never been anything deeper than that.

More importantly, they’ve never acted on any of it.

Tonight was just a blip on the radar, the one-time thing like she said, and when they get home, everything will be normal. This week and all of its weirdness will be forgotten.

If not, she’s going to have to go sleep on Ruby and Dorothy’s couch.

The bedroom door slides open, a sliver of light from the hallway coming in with Killian, and Emma closes her eyes. She tries not to move, to fall asleep, but she’s aware of every one of Killian’s steps as he closes the door behind him and gets into the bed. He shifts a little, but other than that, he stays far enough away that she can barely feel the heat of his body.

Good. He can stay far away, and Emma can get a peaceful night’s sleep.

-/-

Emma doesn’t get a peaceful night’s sleep.

Not even close.

She never really drifts off. Instead, it’s this constant almost. She almost falls asleep all night long, but instead of blacking out into darkness, she lives in this state of dark gray. So close but so far away from what she wants.

They made a mistake. That’s all that happened, and Emma has to live with that. It won’t be nearly this awkward when she and Killian go back home. Then they’ll have their own rooms, and more importantly, their own beds. This will all be some distant, funky little memory. Emma can act like it’s all fine and normal for the next twenty-four hours.

She’s been acting like things are normal with her parents for years. She can do the same thing with Killian Jones.

Emma sighs and flips over. Killian is still on his back, his chest rising and falling slowly, and she’s jealous he can sleep so peacefully. She’s jealous that his mind isn’t running and freaking out over everything. He probably got everything he wanted out of her and is moving on fine.

That’s the attitude she should have.

Emma flips again, grabbing her phone off the nightstand. It’s five in the morning, and usually, she’s not allowed downstairs this early on Christmas morning. But she’s twenty-eight. It’s not like she believes a magical old man is climbing down the chimney leaving presents anymore.

Quietly, Emma gets out of bed and takes her phone with her. She walks downstairs and makes a beeline for the coffee maker. It takes far longer than it should to be ready, but eventually it’s ready. Her dad will make them a big breakfast this morning like he has most mornings she’s been here, so Emma doesn’t bother fixing herself food. She shivers at the thought of having to eat at the table and be able to keep a normal conversation with her parents. Ignoring that awful thought, she moves to the living room with her coffee and turns on the TV.

Emma is unsure of what exactly she’s watching for the next several hours but in the darkness of the morning with the Christmas tree glowing next to her, it’s enough to make her forget everything until her parents come walking down the stairs and the dark thoughts rear their ugly heads.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” David greets at the same time Mary Margaret says, “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Emma returns with a smile.

“Where’s Killian?”

“Still asleep.”

“Why don’t you go wake him?” her dad asks. “I could use a hand cooking breakfast.”

“I think I’ll let him sleep for a little bit more, but I’ll get him before you start cooking the eggs, okay?”

David leans down over her and kisses the crown of her head. “Sounds perfect.”’

The movie on the television ends, the credits quickly rolling before another one starts. She doesn’t recognize it and knows it’s probably not any good, but she watches it anyway. When she was a kid, Christmas morning was so different. She’d wait at the top of the stairs and then rush down them when she was allowed to see what Santa left under the tree. It was like real-world magic.

When did Emma lose that sense of wonder?

The stairs groan behind her, and Emma turns to see Killian walking down them, hair and t-shirt rumpled. He got the memo on not bothering to do anything with his appearance, apparently.

Suddenly, she’s thankful to have her mother here as a buffer. He won’t try to talk to her about last night when they’re still faking it in front of her parents. For the first time this entire trip, she hopes her mom never leaves to go sit in another room and talk on the phone with one of her friends.

“Morning, darling,” Killian whispers when he walks up to her. Emma cranes her neck back, putting on the show for her mom, but she nearly jumps when he leans down and lightly presses his lips over hers. They haven’t been doing that. It’s strictly been cheek or forehead. Bastard. “Happy Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you. I think Dad wanted you to help him cook breakfast. Are you up for that?”

He smiles. “I knew I’d grow on Dave. I’d love to help. You just stay on your ass and watch TV, being the most unhelpful person in this house.”

“Watch it, Jones.”

Killian’s brows dance across his forehead, and he teasingly grabs onto her earlobe before walking into the kitchen. Emma shakes her head and smiles as she brings her coffee mug to her lips.

“I’m so glad you’ve found Killian,” her mom sighs from her spot on the other end of the couch. “It’s good to see you happy now that you’ve found him. You’ve been so miserable lately.”

_You have got to be kidding me_ , Emma thinks, her knuckles going white around her mug. She tries to take a few deep breaths, to calm herself down, but it’s been year after year of this same damn conversation without her mom listening.

Sometimes Emma thinks she’s shouting from the rooftop of an abandoned building with only empty rooms around to hear her.

If a woman yells in a forest and no one is around to hear her, does she really make a sound?

“I’m so sick of this, Mom,” Emma sighs, placing her mug down on the coffee table and bringing her knees to her chest. “I love you. I do. And most of the time I can understand where you’re coming from, but I was happy before I found Killian. Not totally, but I was happy. And you never seem to get that. You think I have to be in a relationship to have self-worth. God, is that why you’re still so friendly with Neal? I can’t think of any other reason other than you feel like I need to be with someone.”

“He’s a good man, sweetie. He was your first love. He’s – ”

“He’s not a good man!” Emma slaps her hands against her shin. “He broke my heart and ruined my life! He made me not pursue a stable future because he convinced me he knew what was best for me and then left me with nothing in the middle of the night. That isn’t a good man. That’s the opposite of a good man. If you had ever bothered to ask me why we broke up instead of immediately assuming I did something wrong, maybe you’d know that instead of inviting him into our house and acting like everything is fine.”

It feels damn to get all of that out even if Emma knows she’s about to send her mother into a tailspin.

That’s years of pent-up resentment and anger, or at least the beginning of it, and it’s…it’s, well, cathartic, even if it’s only the beginning.

“But he was - ”

“Oh my God, Mom,” Emma laughs, and she hopes the fan in the kitchen is loud enough that her dad and Killian don’t hear, “if you say he was my first love, I will leave this house right now and never come back. I get that you and Dad worked out, but that’s because you’re good for each other. I can guarantee Dad never abandoned you in the middle of the night, and I can especially guarantee that he didn’t pretty much emotionally abuse you for years of your relationship. Do you know what it’s like to have the one person in the world you love most basically tell you that you’re nothing? I’m not nothing. I was never nothing, but Neal could never see that.”

Emma hasn’t thought about her relationship with Neal in years. It’s something she pushes back and hopes to never have to deal with, and yet, here she is digging it all up because her mom made a comment Emma couldn’t let go.

Merry Christmas to us all.

“Emma, I’m sorry. I didn’t…I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, I know.” Emma shrugs and looks into the living room where Killian and her dad are standing side by side cooking. She’s pretty sure her dad is about to try to poison Killian or stab him with a kitchen knife, but that’s a problem for another time. “But you should have. You should have when I called you crying, you should have when I told you I wanted to change my name because I felt like it could be a fresh start as my own person with no one holding me back. Instead you demonized me and put Neal up on a pedestal that you’re still putting him on. He’s engaged, Mom. I’m with - well, like you said, I’m with Killian. And even if neither of those things were true, you should be able to listen to me enough to know that being with him has never been good for me. So, please, God, just let me live with my life. I’m never going to be you. I’m never going to be perfect.”

Her mom wipes underneath her eyes, and Emma now feels like the shittiest person in the world for making her mom cry before eight on Christmas morning. How can she be so pissed off and sympathetic all at once?

“I am obviously not perfect,” Mary Margaret sniffles. “You’re my only daughter, and I apparently haven’t known you at all despite trying. I just can’t believe you changed your name. Was that really necessary? I - ”

“Nope.” Emma holds her hand up and stands from her chair. “I’m not having this conversation again. Maybe at another time we can hash all of our shit out, but I really don’t feel like doing it right now. I can’t get into that with you again.”

Emma picks her mug up from the coffee table and walks into the kitchen where Killian is moving a plate of her dad’s pancakes to the table.

“Mmm,” Emma sighs, “something smells delicious.”

Killian nearly drops the plate to the floor, but he saves it at the last minute. It’s not until he looks at Emma with raised brows and a million forehead lines that she realizes what she’s said.

Yeah, nearly having sex on her parents’ kitchen table goes high up on the list of Emma’s worst ideas.

“Everything alright with you, love?” Killian asks. He brushes his hands on his pants and then walks toward her, dipping his head down until he’s eyelevel. It’s unfair how blue his eyes are.

It’s unfair how much she notices stuff like that now.

“Yeah,” Emma lies while her heart races, “everything is just fine.”

-/-

Nothing about any of this is fine.

She shared too much with her mom, and even with it all out in the open, Emma doesn’t think she’ll ever be understood here. They were so blind to so much. One conversation can’t open the floodgates to knowing it all because they’ll never really understand the hell she went through, and now instead of being at peace with it, all Emma wants to do is pick fights with her parents

Like a totally rational adult woman.

So that’s not fine. What’s also not fine is the way Killian is sitting pressed up against her on the loveseat as they open presents. It’s too close, and it’s too much to watch him open presents from her parents that are genuinely thoughtful despite them only knowing each other for three days.

It’s all too much, and she is ready to get home, sleep in her own bed, and go back to the monotony of her life.

Because there she doesn’t have to think about any of this. It’s out of sight and out of mind, just the way she likes it.

They eat breakfast leftovers for lunch and dinner, and slowly but surely, the day fades away, the lights on the tree dimming a bit the closer to midnight it gets. Her parents leave to meet some of their friends for a drink, and she and Killian stay in the house, still lounging on the couch in their pajamas barely saying a word to each other. All day they’ve been having to play up their relationship, more than they have been, and she’s exhausted from it. At one point she wanted to let the truth fly, but she’s not evil enough to hurt her parents more than she already has.

She also doesn’t have the energy to get into another fight.

“You okay, Swan? You’ve seemed a little down today.”

Or maybe she does.

“Fine,” she mutters, pulling her blanket higher up her chest.

“Are you sure?” Killian prods. “Because we haven’t talked about last night, and I heard a bit of your conversation with your mom this morning. It’s perfectly alright not to always get along with family. It’s complicated. I understand that.”

Emma blows air out of her nose and turns away from Killian to watch the TV. “Please. You’ve got peanuts compared to the full-blown circus I have.”

It takes Emma approximately two seconds to realize that she has, to put it gently, fucked up.

Killian rises from his side of the couch and brushes his hand through his hair, tugging at the strands until they fall in his face. He sighs and shrugs his shoulders, defeated. “I am never going to dismiss how you struggle with your parents because it obviously affects you, but you do not get to sit there and say shit like that to me when I am only here with you because my family is all dead. I would give anything to have my loved ones here to fight with because at least then there would be the possibility of repair.”

He shakes her head and clicks his tongue before running it over his bottom lip. “Happy Christmas, Swan. I’m going to bed. We still set to leave at nine tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah. Killian, I’m - ”

“Don’t bother. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Killian.”

He walks up the stairs, and Emma falls back onto the couch. The new year is a week away, but she’s already asshole of the year.

Way to go, Emma.

How the hell is she supposed to fix this?

Emma pours herself another glass of wine and falls asleep on the couch after an hour of beating herself up about her general shittiness as a person. She only wakes when her parents come in and there’s a gentle push at her shoulder.

“Emma,” her mom whispers, “Emma, come on. You’ll hurt your neck if you sleep down here.”

Emma opens her eyes and groggily stands as her mom hovers over her. She’s still half-asleep as she hobbles out of the room, her mom following behind her up the stairs, and before Emma closes her bedroom door, she pokes her head out to look at her mom.

“Hey, Mom?”

“Yeah, hon?”

“You know I love you, right?”

Mary Margaret smiles, but it’s a little sad. Emma’s got no clue how to fix what’s between them, and she knows it’s not all on her to fix. At one point they were so close, and for so long this distance has been because Emma has refused to extend the olive branch and refused to be honest.

But also because her mom refused to see a lot of reality.

At least they’re both still here and have the opportunity to heal what’s been broken.

“I love you, too, Emma,” Mary Margaret whispers. “It’s been so nice having you home.”

She doesn’t say it, but despite all of the crazy things that have happened in the past few days, it’s nice to be home and to have someone care about her by making sure her neck doesn’t hurt from sleeping on the couch or by fixing her breakfast in the morning.

By pretending to be her boyfriend so she didn’t have to deal with an ex.

Emma nods and steps into her room. She’s as quiet as possible when getting into bed, and she doesn’t even say anything when she notices Killian is more on her side of the bed than his. Instead, she slips into that small space and hopes she can be forgiven too.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers before closing her eyes.

-/-

She’s half asleep in the morning when she first feels Killian move. They’ve done a pretty good job in staying in their own space while sleeping, but considering where he was when Emma got into bed last night, Emma wasn’t holding high expectations for this morning.

Not that she really thought about it.

But there’s definitely a hand on her boob and a half-erect dick pressed into the crevice of her ass, and as much as she doesn’t mind the feeling, she’s thankful when Killian moves, leaving her to the chill of an empty bed as he leaves the room to do who knows what outside.

-/-

What he does is shovel snow with her dad, help her mom with some last-minute tips on the renovation of their barn out back, and pack up their bags for the drive home. He’s cordial and affectionate as she says goodbye to her parents, promising to video chat with them more often so they can talk more, which Emma is simultaneously dreading and looking forward to, kind of like this ride home.

-/-

The drive back to Boston happens in almost complete silence, and if Emma didn’t have the radio to keep her company, she’d scream because the silence is so damn loud.

-/-

It’s the new year now.

Has been for about a week or so, and Emma spent the holiday out with Ruby and Dorothy and all of their friends. She wore a sparkly, slightly slutty dress that had her freezing all night long, but everything about it felt wrong.

Everything about everything feels wrong.

Well, that’s not true. For the first time in a long time, when she talks to her parents, it feels like they actually listen instead of projecting their own hopes and dreams to her. They see her as a person with feelings and failure instead of an idealized daughter who fits into their little, perfect box. She has to talk about shit she doesn’t want to talk about more often than not, but Killian’s words keep ringing in her head.

At least she has family around to fight with and to have those hard conversations with.

Killian isn’t around the apartment much. He comes in and out to eat and sleep, but ever since the car ride from hell, he’s been scarce. She’s tried to find time to see him, to apologize for being a dick and for all of Christmas as a whole, but that’s hard to do when she lives with the invisible man.

That’s hard to do when she has trouble admitting she was in the wrong.

It’s even harder when she has trouble admitting to herself that she has feelings for Killian Jones that far surpass just roommate feelings. Emma doesn’t know when the hell that happened or what to do with it, but it makes every night that she can’t talk to him torture.

How is it that she always screws everything up? And how does she go about fixing broken things when she’s still holding the hammer that broke the glass?

Maybe all she needs is an opportunity to talk to Killian where she can’t run away.

Yeah, all she needs is to just see him.

-/-

Why is he at this bar right now?

Okay, the real question is why is _she_ at this bar right now? She had a hellish day at work, and all she wanted was to sleep. That’s all she wants to do lately, mostly because it means she doesn’t have to share the common area with Killian. If she’s sleeping, she doesn’t have to see anything, and everything is much, much better.

Or much, much worse, but Emma is trying not to think about that.

She’s trying not to think about Killian at all, which is decidedly not working out well when she thinks about him at least thirty-seven times a day. Thirty-eight now that he’s standing at the other side of cozying up to the most gorgeous woman Emma has ever seen. She’s tall and tan and has legs that go on for days. She looks like Ruby, and while Emma doesn’t know her, she seriously does not like her.

Because she’s lost her mind and has developed fucking feelings when she hasn’t wanted to do that, especially with someone she can’t get away from.

“Hey.” Ruby nudges her shoulder into Emma’s. “Why do you look like you want to punch someone? Am I that someone? Please don’t mess up my face. My makeup looks fantastic today.”

“Is that the only thing you’re concerned about?”

“Look at me. Doesn’t it look great?”

Emma rolls her eyes and sips on her wine. “You look great. Is that why you dragged me out here?”

“No, it was because you’ve been moping ever since you came home from Storybrooke. I know your relationship with your parents isn’t the best, but it’s not bad enough to have you grouchy for two weeks.”

How much would it be for Emma to drink the entire bottle of wine?

“I mean, it sucked, but I feel much better about my parents than I have in a long time. It’s more...I don’t - it’s - ”

“Killian Jones.”

“How did you know that?” Emma looks at Ruby, but she’s looking over Emma’s shoulder and toward where Killian was standing.

Ruby shakes her head. “Huh, no, I didn’t. That’s Killian standing over there. Wait.” Her red lips part. “What happened with you and Killian? Oh my God, did you fuck Killian when he went home with you?”

“Quiet,” Emma hisses, as if Killian could hear her over the music and the yards of distance between them. “No, I didn’t fuck him. I mean, I almost did, but my mom walked in.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Ruby gets in Emma’s face, and Emma really wishes Dorothy would show up and distract Ruby. “I need details.”

“That’s all there is to know.” Emma tips her glass to her lips, but there’s nothing left. Dammit. “We’d had a little to drink, and it...happened. Nothing else to tell.”

Ruby arches her brow. “So that’s why you’re not talking to him but staring him down and wishing you could pull that girl’s hair out?”

“I’m not doing either of those things.”

“Emma Swan is a li-aaaaar.” Ruby raises her hands and yells across the bar. “Hey, Jones!”

“Ruby Lucas is de-aaad,” Emma sing-songs back before straightening her back and sitting as tall as she can. To get the best leverage to kill Ruby, of course, not to make her boobs look good in this sweater.

“Hello, Ruby, Swan,” Killian greets. The woman who was hanging onto his arm is gone now, but Emma is sure she’ll see her back at their apartment later. “You both look lovely tonight.”

“Same to you, handsome.” Emma rolls her eyes as Ruby drags her finger down Killian’s button-down. It, of course, despite the cold temperature, is half-buttoned. “So, Emma hasn’t said it, but you two need to talk and get over whatever tiff you’re in. Whatever Emma did, she’s sorry, and she really wants to make out with you again.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Emma mouths to Ruby as she slides her forefinger across her throat. “Seriously.”

“Love you,” Ruby says, blowing Emma a kiss and walking across the bar to where Dorothy just walked in. Now the woman decides to show up. Of course. Why couldn’t she have been here two minutes earlier?

In a perfect world, Killian would laugh Ruby off and walk away, but this is not and has never been a perfect world. Hard conversations aren’t avoidable. Instead, they come at you like a freight train with no breaks. You either crash or jump on. Emma is wondering if she can simply jump off the tracks.

“Swan,” Killian starts, but Emma decides she’s going to jump off the tracks. She doesn’t want to do this. She grabs her coat and heads out the door, pushing past Ruby and Dorothy on her way out. This will cause ripples in her relationship with Killian no matter what. She can’t imagine he’ll want to stay living with the woman who was an ass to him and dismissed his brother’s death because she was so caught up in her own issues.

Seriously. Asshole of the Year. It’s officially official now.

It’s stopped snowing in the hour since she entered the bar, and instead of a fresh white coat, the ground is covered in slush that’s been walked over hundreds of times, footprints burying down to show the sidewalk. It’s wet and disgusting, and Emma tugs on her coat as she flees to keep her from getting hypothermia or some other awful disease.

There’s a tug on her hands, and suddenly she’s being pulled backward. She braces herself for a fight, but when she sees it’s Killian, she braces for another kind of fight.

He arches his brow. “What? You going to make a man drink alone in there?”

“I’m not in the mood for a drink. Or a man. Besides, it seems like you already had company with that freakishly long-legged woman who was desperate to make out with you.”

Emma knows that’s mean. She wishes she had legs like that woman, and she wishes she were the one who could hang out at a bar and flirt with Killian like that.

She really messed up there before things could begin.

“Why, Swan? You jealous?”

Emma scoffs and turns away from him. “Like I’ve said, in your dreams.”

Killian drops her hand and moves into her space. He’s always doing that. Personal boundaries are nothing to him. “Aye, quite often.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you dream of the girl who was rude to you and can’t seem to apologize and makes you chase her out of bars even though you live together and could just talk at home. But I imagine you’ll have what’s-her-name there, so I don’t think that’ll be a great time for me to tell you I’m sorry.”

“Love,” he teases, moving his brows and absolutely smirking, “I’m not angry with you over what happened on Christmas, not anymore, and while I’d like to talk about that later, I’d really rather talk about how jealous you are thinking of the possibility of me kissing Victoria in there.”

What a cocky jerk.

Seriously. Who thinks that highly of themselves just to say something so arrogant?

“You can kiss or not kiss whoever you damn well - ”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence because Killian surges forward and presses his mouth against hers, not letting her speak or think or breathe as he kisses her.

And kisses her well, she might add.

Okay, well, that was unexpected.

Like, seriously unexpected. She thought he was about to tell her to go screw herself and find a new roommate because honestly, that’s what Emma would do if she had to live with someone who is as messy as she is.

It’s a lot to deal with, and her heart is still racing from their argument and her being on the verge of a meltdown, but much like the slippery, gross snow underneath her feet, she melts into the kiss (okay, so maybe she is one of those girls who melts like Frosty-the-freaking-Snowman), wrapping her arms around his neck as his hands come to rest just above her ass, tugging her further into him. This feels different than that first kiss, softer, slower, and maybe something else she just can’t place.

Right now, she doesn’t care to search for that word when for the first time in a long time, her life feels right.

“Did you just kiss me to shut me up?” Emma laughs against his lips.

“Did it work?”

Emma quickly glides her lips over his. “Maybe.”

“Good.” Killian presses his forehead against hers, and not to be Hallmark-level cheesy, but she has that thought again about something just feeling right. Terrifying but right. “And Swan?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s fucking freezing out here. Do you want to go back to our place and have what I can only hope is some amazing make-up sex?”

“Can you have make-up sex if you’ve never slept together before?”

Killian pulls back and wraps his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in until he kisses her temple. “We could find out. Or we could go home and see what’s on Netflix, eat some of your leftover Halloween candy.”

“Oh, bud,” Emma laughs, patting his chest and tilting her head to look up at him, “I stress ate that the day we got home from my parents’. But don’t worry, I bought some more last week.”

“I know,” Killian whispers, “I ate some of it when I was still pissed at you.”

Fair. she deserves that. She deserves much more than that, and she expects at some point, she and Killian will have it out like they deserve. She doesn’t get to just skip over the bad and into the field of lush flowers no matter how much it seems like that right now.

But at least there are flowers on the horizon.

“Was it the milk chocolate that made it all better?”

“Aye, it was.”

Emma drops her shoulders, and if she weren’t so sure she was awake, she would swear this was all a dream or part of her imagination from the emotional whiplash she’s experiencing.

“I guess I’ll have to find a new place to hide the candy then.”

“Oh, love, I’ll always find it.”

-/-

(PS: You can have make-up sex even if you’ve never had sex with that person before.)

(Emma and Killian were quick to test that theory out.)

(And eat the chocolate.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays to you and yours ❤️

**Author's Note:**

> I'm over on Tumblr at [let-it-raines](https://let-it-raines.tumblr.com/) ❤️


End file.
